


Worthy of Your Protection

by Hyakunana, leporidae



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Collaboration, Gen, Golden Deer Sylvain Jose Gautier, Hopeful Ending, Illustrations, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mentioned Miklan (Fire Emblem), Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Reunions, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Sacrifice, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26195626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyakunana/pseuds/Hyakunana, https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: A boy with no Crest, no stake in the Gautier conflict — and no stake in Sylvain as a person — had shielded him from a fatal blow without thinking twice, shoving him aside with a look of terror etched across his face. And Sylvain had just stood and watched as his classmate, so timid and so reckless, had burst into a splash of blood, collapsing to his knees as the rest of the Golden Deer rushed to his side.Stood and watched. Nothing else.
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/Ignatz Victor
Comments: 12
Kudos: 133
Collections: 2020 Ultra Rarepair Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had the pleasure of writing a Sylvain/Ignatz fic for the FE3H [Ultra Rare Pair Big Bang](https://twitter.com/ultrararepairb1) (what else do you expect from me at this point?) and also doing my (surprisingly) first official collab with [Polux](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts) who's been on this tiny island with me for months now.
> 
> Thinking about the dynamics of characters who have never technically interacted in canon is always a fun exercise, but more than that I think the friends you make through rare pairs can be extra special because you both have the same obscure thoughts, haha. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you [Polux](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts) for working with me and lending your incredible art and storytelling to this fic. It's easy to be inspired to create when I'm working with you 💚❤️
> 
> (This fic has two chapters, the second half will be posted later this week✨)

[[@HyakunanaArts](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts)]

Miklan is gone. 

The lips that had spewed venomous jealousy towards Sylvain, the legs that had kicked Sylvain’s shins when their parents weren’t looking, the hands that had thrust Sylvain into the open maw of a well and the chest had shaken with laughter as Sylvain plunged into the cold water below — all of it, gone. 

The rampaging beast had bellowed one last painful roar as Sylvain plunged his weapon through its sinewy flesh, staining the black chest a dark red. Just one unceremonious instant, and the life of Sylvain’s brother, the man that had tormented him since before he could walk, had been snuffed out.

Sylvain steps outside the dormitory, squinting as the light of the sun washes over him and raising one cupped hand to shield his eyes. The beautiful weather seems like the Goddess’s idea of a cruel joke, as though he’s expected to wake up and move on and bask in the sunlight, as though his hands aren’t stained with blood, the blood of his brother and the blood of his classmates unwittingly involved in his family’s petty pedigree squabble. 

But that’s typical for his pitiful existence, Sylvain thinks with some chagrin. This is just another day in the life of Sylvain Jose Gautier, the man who causes pain to others and smiles it all away. He doesn’t face the consequences, and he isn’t plagued by the bitter sting of his conscience, because he’s _Sylvain,_ a selfish flirt with a disregard for others. 

At a young age he had adopted this character into his mannerisms. Now in his young adulthood, a practiced actor evolving through the stages of his own life, he plays that role quite well. 

As Sylvain and his classmates had faced Miklan, his brother had grasped the Lance of Ruin to his chest like a poisonous lifeline as its power consumed him, fear and anger coursing through him as his humanity was stripped away by the inhumane power of the Relic. Rooted to the spot, all Sylvain could do was watch in wide-eyed horror as the transformation slithered across Miklan’s limbs and swallowed him whole. _He deserves it,_ Sylvain had thought; but icy waves of guilt had washed across him nonetheless, because _what did I do to deserve my Crest, then?_

His hands frozen to the hilt of his lance, Sylvain had faced the beast unmoving, Miklan thundering towards him with nineteen years of jealous rage snarled from his dripping jowls. In that moment, Sylvain wondered if perhaps defending himself would be a waste of time. He had always been morbidly fascinated with the idea of what it would be like to die. Surely it couldn’t be colder than how he already felt, watching this abomination that had once been his brother lurch forth in agony.

But he was never given the chance to find out.

Of all his classmates, Ignatz is the one who had stepped between Sylvain and his brother. A boy with no Crest, no stake in the Gautier conflict — and no stake in Sylvain as a person — had shielded him from a fatal blow without thinking twice, shoving him aside with a look of terror etched across his face. And Sylvain had just stood and watched as his classmate, so timid and so reckless, had burst into a splash of blood, collapsing to his knees as the rest of the Golden Deer rushed to his side.

Stood and watched. Nothing else.

Sylvain’s palms are numb. He stretches his arms idly in front of him, pulls them a bit too tight, and winces. Perhaps later today he will head to the training grounds, work in some mindless sparring practice with Felix who will certainly not offer him any heartfelt condolences. Later tonight he’ll head into town and chat up some of the local women, getting under their skin until they give him the swift slap to the cheek he deserves. Nothing like indulging in his regular sleazy routine to maintain a sense of normalcy.

“Heya,” a familiar voice calls, and Sylvain turns to see Claude sauntering towards him, index and middle finger extended in a salute. “You doing okay, Sylvain?”

It takes a moment for Sylvain to realize Claude is referring to the events of yesterday. “Oh yeah, don’t sweat it,” he says with an easy smile. “He had it coming, you know? My brother, I mean. Whether I was there for it or not. Karma, you know? I mean, if you believe in that kind of thing.”

The toe of Claude’s boot taps against the grass. “Can I ask you something, Sylvain? Why did you join the Golden Deer?”

“What do you mean?” Sylvain asks, even as Claude’s thorny words cut their way under his skin. 

“Well, I’m just surprised, that’s all. Of course, we’re glad to have you, but —” Claude’s eyes are piercing, searching for something underneath Sylvain’s smile, and Sylvain doesn’t like it. “I thought you were pretty close with the Blue Lions class. They’re your childhood friends, as far as I know — some of them, anyway. What changed your loyalty?”

“The Professor asked me to join, and how could I say no to that face? You’ve seen their blank puppy dog eyes, haven’t you?”

Claude doesn’t smile. “There’s a time and place for joking around, Sylvain, and it’s not now. Your _classmate_ just risked his life for you — not the Professor. If you just joined for Teach, then… well, let’s just say, as your leader, I wouldn’t be too pleased. I would advise you not to take your classmates for granted.”

Dimitri would never have confronted Sylvain like this. He’s straightforward, almost to a fault, and often woefully oblivious to the ugly hidden depths of others. Claude on the other hand is a much different leader, one who can smile easily to set others at ease while the gears of his mind continue to turn beneath the facade.

In that sense, Claude is uncomfortably relatable. However, he is also an infinitely better person than Sylvain, so the comparison ends there.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Sylvain says. “Ignatz, I mean. It’s the least I can do. I… hadn’t expected him, of all people, to be that brave.”

Claude softens a little. “To be honest, neither did I. We all give him a little grief at times, but when it comes to the missions… he’s always shaking. He doesn’t want to be there, but he comes anyway.”

Sylvain swallows.

“He really stepped up today,” Claude says.

“Yeah,” Sylvain says, a woefully inadequate response. “Uh — yeah. He did.”

_I didn’t want him to._

“Just saying,” Claude says lightly, turning to leave. “See ya, Sylvain. Thanks again for coming on the mission yesterday.”

It sounds almost like an insult.

* * *

The infirmary is mostly empty when Sylvain enters. Besides Ignatz there seems to be only one other student asleep in a hospital bed against the back wall. Apparently the minor injuries wrought by yesterday’s battle had already been treated by the other clerics — which can only mean that Ignatz’s wounds had been more critical. 

Swallowing the knot in his throat, Sylvain walks to where Ignatz lies in the bed, head propped against a pillow and arms lying at his side. Ignatz lifts his head to face him, and Sylvain feels a jolt of relief when he sees the other boy’s head move; a part of him has been afraid he would enter the infirmary to find Ignatz lying cold and motionless against the sheets. A white bandage adorns the side of Ignatz’s face, difficult to see against his pale cheek, but it makes Sylvain consider how close Miklan’s attack had been to slashing across Ignatz’s face, or eyes, or neck —

“H-hi, Sylvain.”

“Hey there,” Sylvain says, too loudly, too quickly. “You’re awake! And a little roughed up, but hey — it could be worse.”

 _Yeah, you could be dead._ The unspoken words hang between them, stifling and incredibly awkward.

Ignatz laughs nervously. “Um, yes, thankfully. I’m actually quite lucky… I guess the Goddess was watching out for me.”

“The Goddess, sure,” Sylvain says before he can stop himself, wincing when he sees Ignatz’s brow furrow. Before the pious boy calls him out for being a religious heathen, he clumsily diverts the subject. “Speaking of goddesses, I think I’ve just seen one myself.” He nods towards the door. Manuela is entering the room as he speaks, arms cradled around a pile of fresh bandages and other assorted medical supplies. “Hi there, Professor Manuela. Focused as ever, I see. You know, there’s something so alluring about watching a woman hard at work.” Beside him, Ignatz coughs, clearly embarrassed by Sylvain’s shameless flirting. “I’m almost jealous of Ignatz cooped up here, since he gets to behold your beauty all day long.”

_Real classy, Sylvain. Jealous of Ignatz? Ignatz is only here in the first place because you were too cowardly to fight back against your brother._

Of course, the practiced smile on his face never falters.

“Hello, Sylvain,” Manuela says, barely sparing him a glance as she sets to work organizing the shelves. “How are you feeling after yesterday?”

“Feeling?” Sylvain echoes. “Oh, I wasn’t injured, thankfully. A couple scrapes here and there, but nothing I can’t patch up on my own.”

“And emotionally?”

He blinks. “Huh?”

Manuela sighs. “Never mind, Sylvain. Try not to cause my patients any extra stress, all right? Ignatz needs his rest.”

“No, no,” Ignatz pipes up, so earnestly that Sylvain feels a bit bad. “I’m — I’m grateful Sylvain took the time to visit me. Really, it means a lot.”

Would he feel the same way if he knew that Sylvain was only here due to the (not so) gentle prodding of Claude? That Sylvain never would have come here on his own, never would have faced the consequences of his own weakness?

“You’re very kind, Sylvain,” Manuela says thinly, and it sounds a bit threatening. “Let me know if he’s too loud, Ignatz. I’ll shoo him out myself.”

“He’s fine, really,” Ignatz insists, even as Manuela turns her back on him and sets about organizing the cabinets. 

Sylvain sits down on the end of the bed, careful to avoid Ignatz’s legs. “You know what the worst part is? The Professor is assigning us homework like nothing even happened. You’d think after a battle like that, we’d have at least _one_ day off.”

Ignatz chuckles. “If I’m being honest, I would rather be in class with the rest of you,” he says. “Being cooped up in here is kind of stuffy, don’t you think? Every day the sky looks different, and when you’re inside, you wind up missing out. Now I’ll never know what last night’s sunset looked like.” An embarrassed cough slips from his lips. “S-sorry, that sounds… incredibly grim. And kind of ridiculous. And also like I’m prioritizing the wrong thing. Especially since you just lost — um — forget I said any of that.”

“Said any of what?” Sylvain jokes with a wink. “Nah, it’s fine. I… didn’t really lose all that much.” A cough. “Hey, on the bright side —” He tips his chin towards Manuela rummaging through supplies behind them. “You have a… _different_ kind of nice view in here, if you catch my drift.”

“Sylvain, that’s not—” Ignatz’s cheeks flush a deep pink. “Professor Manuela has lost sleep taking care of me… I feel bad for her.”

The tease dies in his throat. “It’s her job,” Sylvain says, the words stilted even to his own ears. “It’s not like she didn’t know what she was getting into when she became a doctor.”

Ignatz’s gaze drops. _“I’m_ the one who didn’t know,” he says quietly. “What — what I was getting into. When I came here.”

Of course he didn’t. If he had, he wouldn’t have tried to die for Sylvain.

All at once, the walls seem to close in around him. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” Sylvain says, standing suddenly. “I can’t stick around right now —” _that’s not true_ — “but I’ll make sure to take good notes today in class so you won’t be behind. Actually, it’s probably better to ask Lysithea for hers. She’s way more thorough than I am.”

“I’ll take yours,” Ignatz says. “Lysithea… um, she’ll probably just scold me for getting hurt. For being in the way.”

 _But you’re not_ —

“Then I’ll make sure to take good ones for you,” Sylvain says. His palms are clammy. He chooses to ignore it. “See ya, Ignatz.”

“...See you, Sylvain.”

* * *

The Professor chooses to give the Lance of Ruin to Sylvain rather than handing it over to Rhea and the Church. It feels unnatural in his grip, both heavy and light at the same time. The spindly protrusions on the side of the blade resemble the legs of an insect; he can imagine it scuttling towards him, drawn to his Crest like a beacon, an abomination as putrid as his own heart.

In Miklan’s hands, the Lance of Ruin had killed him.

In Sylvain’s hands, it would do worse: let him live.


	2. Chapter 2

Five years, and the war rages without an end in sight.

Sylvain returns to Gautier territory. It’s so much harsher than he remembers, lifeless and cold without the warmth of his classmates to light the way in front of him. Sylvain thinks perhaps he had grown complacent during his studies at the Officers Academy, forgotten his independence and relied too much on others. 

He finds himself yearning for that warmth again; for Claude and Hilda who kept him on his toes; for Lorenz and Leonie who indulged his petty bickering; for Marianne and Lysithea who refused to be fooled by his practiced charms, for Raphael who sparred with the friendliest grin on his face.

For Ignatz.

* * *

Five years pass, and the promise of their reunion beckons to him, a flame in the darkness. 

The monastery has seen better days, its buildings eroding with continued neglect and the surrounding area overrun by bandits. Edelgard’s attack had reduced Garreg Mach from a school and community bursting with vibrant energy to a grim graveyard of lost memories.

Or perhaps not quite lost.

For five years, Faerghus had gradually fallen to chaos without a proper leader at its helm. Dimitri had been executed, and though his body had never been recovered, Sylvain had a hard time clinging to the hope he was alive. Felix had insisted otherwise, that _there was no way the boar would be snuffed out so easily,_ but Sylvain thought privately that perhaps it was better to accept the loss and move on — not that he’d ever express that opinion to Felix and risk being cut down by his angry friend.

Sylvain has seen too much in his life — and caused too much harm to too many people — to cling to optimism.

_And yet._

Much like Dimitri, the Professor hadn’t been seen since the war began. Byleth had disappeared after the battle without a trace, and there was no reason to believe they were still alive. 

Still, Sylvain returns to the monastery. He’s not sure what drives him, really. It’s not faith, and he’s certainly broken promises before. And it’s unlikely the rest of the Golden Deer ever truly saw him as their classmate; at best he had been an interloper who caused his peers nothing but trouble and exasperation. If he doesn’t show up at their class reunion, they probably won’t miss him.

But they might.

And he’d certainly miss _them._

For the first time in five years, Sylvain returns to Garreg Mach. 

* * *

Sylvain isn’t particularly religious, but when he sees the Professor alive, he silently thanks the Goddess nonetheless — though admittedly, he can’t help but feel a bit jealous that Byleth had slept through the last five years of war and heartbreak and death.

(It’s not the first time he’s been jealous of the Professor’s oblivious nature, and it probably won’t be the last.)

Every member of the Golden Deer kept their promise to meet here today. They all look a little more mature, changed by war; Marianne has a newfound clarity in her eyes Sylvain has never seen before, Lorenz lacks the insufferable intensity of his former snobbish air, Raphael… well, he may be the least different of them all, just a bit more muscular than before (if that’s even possible).

Sylvain’s gaze wanders across the room to Ignatz, whose glasses tilt askew as Hilda pulls him into a not-so-delicate hug. Most of his classmates have evolved subtly, but Sylvain is shocked by how much Ignatz has changed. Gone is his aura of perpetual timidity; his expressions are still gentle as ever, but not fearful. The Ignatz of the Officers Academy had been fragile, a nervous mess of apologies and shaking hands and stuttering. Sylvain can tell just at a glance that a completely different man has returned to Garreg Mach today.

Ignatz catches his eye and waves nervously, a shy smile spreading across his lips.

Perhaps not _completely_ different after all.

With a cough, Sylvain turns away, only then remembering he hadn’t waved back.

Despite their collective metamorphosis, the Golden Deer still gather around Claude like ducklings even now, eagerly awaiting their leader’s newest scheme. United with Byleth once again, their glimmer of hope sparks anew, the belief they can turn the tides of conflict in their favor. Even Sylvain finds himself considering it, that Fodlan could be different with Claude at the helm. He truly radiates a confidence all his own, though Sylvain can’t help but feel guilty thinking about it, as though placing his faith in Claude is disrespectful to the memory of Dimitri.

_Dimitri..._

A shiver runs down Sylvain’s spine, a ghost of a thought he hadn’t quite managed to push away.

_No use looking back. I made my choice._

His former classmates slowly filter out of the room once the meeting draws to a close, eager to catch up with one another and explore the crumbling campus they’d left behind, to see what had changed and what had remained the same. 

In the corner of his vision Sylvain sees a flash of green, a billowing cloak. He knows who it belongs to.

He doesn’t follow.

As if sensing his hesitation, Claude turns to look at him. After all this time, the leader of the Golden Deer still sees right through Sylvain’s every move — and his every moment of cowardice. With a knowing look, Claude tilts his head towards the doorway through which Ignatz had exited.

 _Yeah, okay, I get it._ He doesn’t voice the thought out loud, but Claude still smirks with satisfaction as though he’d heard it directly. Whatever expression is on Sylvain’s face right now must be giving him away.

Sylvain sighs. Sometimes he wonders why he’d ever thought it had been a good idea to transfer to this class.

* * *

Sylvain passes Leonie who greets him with a grin. She seems to have forgiven him for his insults of the past, or at the very least she chooses to be merciful and not bring them up.

“If you’re looking for Ignatz, I saw him heading towards the bridge,” Leonie says, hands on her hips.

“Who said I was looking for Ignatz?”

Leonie rolls her eyes. “Uh, your own face? You looked like you had something to say back there, that’s all. No need to get testy with me.”

It still doesn’t sit right that he’s apparently _that_ transparent. “Okay, okay — I get it. I was just…” Sylvain coughs. “I don’t know, wondering if he said something to you?”

“About you?” Leonie snorts. “Glad to see you haven’t changed at all, Sylvain. You’re just as self absorbed as ever.”

Sylvain manages a grin. “On the contrary, you have evolved so beautifully. I like your new hair, by the way. It definitely enhances your loveliness. Like sunflowers, remember?”

“Oh, shut up and go find Ignatz.”

Sylvain dodges her kick to his shin, and laughs. 

* * *

The young man he’s looking for stands on the bridge, watching the sky dappled with clouds. From a distance he looks like a part of the scene, a serene silhouette glowing against the light of the sun. His cloak ripples in the wind as he turns to face Sylvain, a soft smile on his lips that makes Sylvain’s pulse stutter in his chest.

[[@HyakunanaArts](https://twitter.com/HyakunanaArts)]

“Oh, Sylvain! I’m so grateful you made it here, after all this time.”

“Isn’t that my line?” Sylvain asks. 

Ignatz laughs. “I’m just happy to see you,” he says, a bit shyly — or maybe that’s just Sylvain’s imagination. “Truly, I —”

Sylvain steps forward and gathers the man into a tight embrace.

He can feel Ignatz’s slight frame tense in surprise in his arms, and then Ignatz lifts his own arms, grasping awkwardly at Sylvain’s back before settling on his waist. Sylvain hugs him tight to his chest as a wave of mortification washes over him and heat flushes his cheeks. The relief at seeing Ignatz alive had made his body spring to life on its own, but he hadn’t been thinking, hadn’t given Ignatz a chance to push him away and say no.

“These last few years have been hard, huh?” Ignatz murmurs, running his hand across the small of Sylvain’s back. 

His lower lip trembles. He doesn’t want to burden Ignatz with his sloppy, unplanned tears, so he bites back the swell of grief before the dam can burst. “Yeah,” Sylvain says, a woefully inadequate response. 

Ignatz chuckles, and Sylvain can feel the hum of his voice against his own chest. “I’ve missed you.”

The ground seems to lurch beneath his feet. “What can I say?” Sylvain replies with a nervous laugh. “You meet me once, and you can’t stop thinking about me.”

Ignatz pulls back from the hug to face Sylvain with a bemused smile. “Well, you do have one of those… _memorable_ personalities.”

“Hey, that doesn’t sound like a compliment.”

“Doesn’t it?” Ignatz says.

Sylvain realizes he’s teasing. Ignatz, teasing _him._ He swallows. “If you become the smooth talker of the two of us, where does that leave me?”

Ignatz chuckles. “You still have a lot of qualities I don’t, Sylvain.”

 _Like cowardice. Like the inability to act when it truly matters._ Sylvain’s throat goes dry. Normally, this would be where he inserts a casual quip to divert the conversation and avoid self reflection. But Ignatz’s compliment is so genuine, almost admiring. He wants to deny it, but — he doesn’t want Ignatz’s face to fall, for him to stop smiling. Even if it’s selfish, he’d like to bask in that admiration just a little bit longer.

A gust of wind billows across the bridge, and the tassels of Ignatz’s cloak flutter gently, his bangs swept away from his forehead. Sylvain watches Ignatz’s hands a bit too intensely as he adjusts his hair, eyes trailing up from Ignatz's delicate gloved fingers to the exposed strip of skin above his left ear. Before the hair flops back into place Sylvain spots the long, thin line of a scar. Perhaps he’d gained the mark during these past years of conflict, but —

He remembers sitting next to Ignatz in the infirmary bed, the bandage Manuela had placed on Ignatz’s injury in that exact spot, and Sylvain’s chest tightens at the memory.

The past never truly stays buried, no matter how much dirt Sylvain tries to shovel on it to keep it in the ground. Even years later, when both of them have grown and Fodlan is nearly unrecognizable, Sylvain can’t look at Ignatz without _that scene_ replaying in his memories, over and over.

He sees Ignatz, sees the mark left by Miklan’s claws; he sees a man who had selflessly become a human shield to save him, as though Sylvain had been worth saving. It’s twisted and selfish and terrible, but in that moment Sylvain had relished feeling valued. All his life, help from others came with ulterior motives. No one else had ever extended a lifeline to him like that before, with pure intentions and nothing personal to gain.

“Thank you, Ignatz.” The repressed gratitude spills over, unbidden. “I — I never thanked you, and you saved me. You saved my _life.”_

“H-huh?” Ignatz blushes pink, hand raising to push up his glasses with one fidgety finger. “What? When?”

Ignatz truly doesn’t remember, Sylvain realizes. That act of selflessness five years ago, when Ignatz had shielded Sylvain, had stuck with him all this time, haunted him more than the death of Miklan that same day. In an unluckier timeline, Ignatz could have died. For _him._

“My brother,” Sylvain says, and Ignatz’s cheeks flush darker as the memory floods back. “Back then, if it wasn’t for you…” He glances away, fixing his gaze on the horizon across the bridge. “Well, I wouldn’t be here talking to you right now.”

Ignatz laughs nervously. “Surely you’re exaggerating.”

Sylvain shakes his head. “When Miklan came towards me, I couldn’t help thinking… if I let him strike me, end it all — wouldn’t that be retribution for all the suffering I caused him, with my Crest? I thought that, and in that moment… I had been ready to die.” His companion is silent, and Sylvain can’t bring himself to look at whatever face he’s making. “Well, that’s an awfully heavy confession for a class reunion, isn’t it?” he adds quickly in as cheerful a tone he can muster. “And it’s all in the past and doesn’t even really mean much to you, so feel free to forget —”

A sniffle sounds beside him, and Sylvain turns to Ignatz, alarmed to find him crying. “Ignatz…?”

“I didn’t even know why I moved that day,” Ignatz whispered. “I felt like I was possessed, like some outside force had pulled my body. All I could think of was how scared you looked. I’d never seen you so terrified before… it made me scared, too.”

“But you still acted,” Sylvain blurted. “You were incredibly brave.”

Ignatz shakes his head. “Afterwards, when I was recovering… I hated myself, for making you worry about me. For trying to play the hero.”

“Hey…”

Ignatz’s hands grip the rail of the bridge, and Sylvain can see his fingers trembling. “I never even thought of it like that before now, that I saved your life. Perhaps it’s selfish of me, but… I’m happy. If what I did back then means I can stand here and talk to you today, then I think it was the right thing to do.”

“Talking to me isn’t all it’s cracked up to be,” Sylvain tries to joke, but the words come out sounding pathetic. 

“I’m happy,” Ignatz says again. “And… don’t do that again, all right?”

“Do what?”

Ignatz exhales. “Don’t… be ready to die.”

Sylvain bites his lip, feeling very exposed. “Well, I… this is war, you know. You have to be ready to die at any moment.”

He shakes his head stubbornly. “No, it’s the opposite. We have to fight today so we can live tomorrow and enjoy the peace we’ve created.”

 _What can I even say to that?_ “Hey, if your artist thing doesn't work out, you definitely could have a future as a motivational speaker,” Sylvain says weakly. 

“Sylvain, if you really want to thank me for saving you, then don’t throw your life away for nothing. Keep fighting for tomorrow… for me?”

Sylvain stares at him, mouth agape. Where had this sudden boldness come from?

As if realizing the same, Ignatz’s face suddenly flushes dark red. “O-oh, uh — I’m so sorry, Sylvain, that was incredibly presumptuous of me. I have no idea what came over me, I —”

“It’s a deal.”

“Huh?”

There’s a certain clarity now, a purpose. All at once Sylvain finds himself relaxed; he’s aware of everything pleasant around him, the warm weather and gentle breeze, the sky dotted with clouds with the gentle strokes of a paintbrush. “Sure, I’ll live for you,” he says with a wink. “Why not? But you know, that deal goes both ways. No more trying to get yourself killed on my behalf, okay?”

“O-oh. Um — I’ll try not to.”

Sylvain sighs. “I’ve missed you too, Ignatz. You’re —” There’s so much he could say, and yet all he manages is, “a… really good person.”

“Oh, well — I don’t think I’m that —”

“Thanks for caring about me,” Sylvain interrupts his protest in a murmur. 

Ignatz is silent for a while, staring down at his hands. For a wild moment Sylvain actually thinks he’s about to deny it — _you’ve got it wrong, Sylvain, I actually don’t_ — but instead what he says is, “Sylvain, I always wondered… why did you join the Golden Deer?”

It’s the same question Claude had posed to him years ago, but this time he can’t bring himself to choke out his usual flippant response. “I don’t know,” Sylvain admits. “It was on a whim, honestly. That sounds pretty pathetic, huh?”

Ignatz shakes his head. “It’s hard to put into words sometimes, but maybe that was the path the Goddess meant for you. Like your path was always meant to take you here, and you just don’t know why yet. Maybe you’ll never know.”

Sylvain snorts. “That’s very deep of you, but have you considered it has nothing to do with faith at all? Maybe I just don’t think before I act.”

Rather than scold his blasphemy, Ignatz chuckles into his hand. “Well, you may be right. I suppose that makes two of us, then.”

“Just a couple of fools blessed by the Goddess to make impulsive decisions, huh?”

“Something like that.” Thoughtfully Ignatz watches the sky, and Sylvain wonders what’s running through his mind. For someone so genuine, Ignatz is often surprisingly difficult to read, a master at burying his own feelings for the benefit of others. “It’s strange to be back. These past years have felt like an eternity, but now that we’re here again, it feels like a blur.”

“You know what I really missed?”

“Hmm?”

Sylvain places a solemn hand on Ignatz’s shoulders. “The meat pie they served in the dining hall. I find myself craving it sometimes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ignatz agrees. “I liked it too. Actually, they served a lot of dishes that were much fancier than what I was used to. It made me really want to travel and enjoy the cuisine of other places, you know?”

“Don’t ever come to Faerghus, then,” Sylvain warns. “Seriously, the food back home is shit. Same tasteless meat dishes over and over. You’d think at least one person would be able to cook.”

“I’m sure Raphael would still eat it. He’ll inhale anything.”

“True that.”

Everything after that is easier between them, nothing like it had been five years ago when they had avoided each other’s eyes and hidden behind polite words. Sylvain tells Ignatz about the tenuous state of the Kingdom, and in return Ignatz discusses the Alliance and his family’s business. Only when Raphael appears and forcibly drags them both to dinner do they cease their dialogue and meet up with the rest of their class.

Ignatz sits by Raphael at dinner. Sylvain sits on his other side. It’s a moment of respite before the war begins anew, and Sylvain basks in it, knowing this brief peace will end soon.

The Lance of Ruin will be put to use once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 💚❤️✨


End file.
